


Let's Start A Riot

by MoonySideDown



Series: Batbrats [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mentions of riots but no actual riots occur, Original Character(s), batfam, batfamily, bury me in family fluff, inside jokes are funside jokes, no proofreading we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 21:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonySideDown/pseuds/MoonySideDown
Summary: One of my friends says 'I'm gonna riot' when things don't go her way.So I wrote a bunch of scenes featuring that phrase circulating throughout the batfam.





	Let's Start A Riot

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said I was going to try and keep my OC stories in some kind of chronological order, but if you knew me you would have known that was a gosh darn dirty lie. This takes place several years after the first story in this series.

i.

Jenelle, currently Hummingbird, paced on the edge of a twenty-story building and frowned at the streets below. Gotham seemed to glow from the light cast by the orange-tinted streetlights, casting soft highlights on the more shadowed rooftops.

She and Robin were in contact with the others out on patrol that night via comms installed in their masks, but the lines had been mostly silent for the past couple of hours. Patrol was calm, which was a good thing, but it was also incredibly boring once everyone got over their goofing around.

“Are you ever going to stop pacing?” Robin grumbled from his place, perched beside a gargoyle that leaned out slightly over the city. He was nestled between the monster’s huge stone legs, leaning back against the rounded chest and browsing through his phone.

“When something happens, sure.” She sighed, kicking a pebble off the rooftop and watching it until its tiny shape disappeared among the visual clutter of the nighttime cityscape.

Robin let out a soft ‘tt’, but didn’t say anything else while he scrolled through the Teen Titans group text. “You could stand to learn some patience.”

Hummingbird sighed loudly and turned to stare up into the shadows above them. Other buildings rose above theirs, and she wondered if any of the others had gotten any closer to them. She doubted it, since Batman’s usual procedure for patrol was to have everyone as spread out as possible.

“I’m gonna riot.” She grumbled.

A sudden choking sound startled her and she spun around in alarm.

Damian had dropped his phone to his lap and had a hand over his mouth, eyes closed tightly like he was in pain.

“Robin?”

He moved his hand and she was again surprised, this time to see the end of a smile that he was trying to hide.

She marched closer and playfully punched his arm. “Don’t laugh!”

“I’m sorry,” he snorted, covering his mouth again to stifle his laughing, “but the idea of the terrifying hummingbird starting a riot…” he trailed off, covering his mouth, his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh.

She punched him again, a little harder, and laughed out loud. “Fight me!”

The smaller boy spun quickly and leapt right for her.

She ducked, felt the slight breeze as he passed by, and watched him roll through his landing and back to his feet. All her muscles tensed and her heartbeat sped up in preparation for a fight.

Robin crouched, smirking. “Fight me.”

Hummingbird smiled, crouched a little lower while she mentally judged the distance, then kicked off the ground with one foot and launched herself at him.

 

 

 

ii.

Rain drummed against the massive windows in the manor’s living room, although the gentle sound was barely audible over the television. Cheerful music and ambient outdoor sound effects nearly blared from the surround-sound speakers.

Alfred walked into the room and frowned.

Empty soda cans, snack-sized chip and popcorn bags, napkins, and candy wrappers littered the floor like some sort of rainstorm. On the couch a mass of blankets occasionally shifted positions, alerting him to the source of the mess.

He marched into the room, flinching at the amplified noise of an arrow shot from a bow.

“Master Timothy.”

Tim was wrapped in the blankets so securely only his face, eyes fixed on the huge television screen, and hands, working busily at the new console’s game pad, were visible. “Hm?”

“Is it really necessary to have the volume up so high?”

“I’m immersing myself, Al. It helps me focus.”

Alfred turned his attention to the screen, where a blonde teenager was running shirtless through a flowered field, bow in hand. “...I see. Well, you’re about to immerse yourself in garbage.”

“Mm.” The teenager grunted.

He waited for the boy to respond in any other way, and when he did not, he grabbed the remote from the couch’s armrest and turned the volume down. This action earned him a petulant grumble, but no other resistance.

“It’s nearly time for dinner, so I suggest you begin preparing to save this game until later.” He found the small garbage can tucked against the wall and began tossing the debris of Tim’s gaming session into it.

Tim sighed as if the idea of stopping his game was a massive intrusion. “What’s for dinner?”

“I’ve made a roast, at the request of Master Bruce.”

A groan. “I voted for pizza bagels.”

“I’m afraid you had no supporters. Perhaps next time you should improve your campaign strategy past leaving a sticky note on the freezer.”

“I’m gonna riot.”

He looked up at his grandson, the boy still wrapped tightly in his blankets. If he hadn’t heard Tim’s voice himself he would have thought him a clever hologram or statue. Alfred set the garbage can back in its place before heading out of the room. “Well, if you do, please do so quietly.”

 

 

 

iii.

Crow leaned down farther over her motorcycle, the growl of the engine seeming to vibrate through her entire body. Ahead of her, two of the men Riddler had been using as part of his latest scheme rode their own motorcycles along a pier straight towards the water.

She knew the docks just as well as any other part of Gotham. In seconds the men would reach the end and be forced to stop or try to turn around, or plunge headfirst into the icy water. It would be close, but she was well aware of where she was on the dock, and would be sure to stop before reaching the end.

Splitting her focus between the men ahead and paying attention to her place on the dock was a challenge but she was up to it. She rarely felt as alert and focused as she did chasing bad guys. It was a challenge, and while she wouldn’t call it fun, it was never boring.

All at once the boards ended abruptly and left her wheels spinning in thin air before she and the motorcycle plunged straight into Gotham harbor with an impact like hitting a wall.

 

The batmobile roared across the dock and slid to a sideways stop, Batman leaping out of the driver’s side before it had even stopped entirely. Without losing momentum he dove over the edge and into the frigid water.

Crow was a good swimmer, but being dunked unexpectedly was disorienting in any scenario, and there was no guarantee the impact with the water hadn’t knocked her unconscious.

He kicked off of the pier’s wooden supports towards where the water was still agitated from the splash, numbers running through his head fast as he could process them.

Fifteen minutes in the water until hypothermia. Two minutes of air if she was awake to hold her breath, and if she’d had a chance to take one. He estimated thirty seconds if she hadn’t gotten a breath before going under. Less if she was unconscious.

He spotted two dark shapes with the help of his cowl’s night vision and infrared, one slowly sinking and one struggling to right itself.

Gotham was in the grips of a brutal winter night. Crow’s suit was insulated, which would buy them some time.

He swam for the smaller, struggling shape, and grabbed her arm.

Crow twisted in his grip and kicked at his stomach. Her movements were already slower than they should have been, from the cold and confusion. After he blocked her kick he pulled her in close to him and swam for the surface.

They broke through the churning water’s surface, and he hefted her up a little more to be sure she was out of the water.

Immediately she was coughing and gagging on the salt water, choking up a few mouthfuls of water while he swam for the access ladder hanging from the pier.

“I can climb.” She wheezed, squirming in his grip.

He could feel her shivering, despite the brief time in the water and her suit’s insulation. “Hold on.”

Once on the pier, he ignored her protests and carried her to the batmobile himself, setting her in the passenger seat and tapping a button on the dash to blast the heat, then opened a compartment in the console and pulled out a spare inhaler.

She grunted a ‘thanks’ when he dropped it in her lap, and took a couple of puffs from it while he closed the door and moved to the driver’s side to sit down.

“Where did the dudes go?” Her voice was gritty from the cold, the water, and the coughing. She curled up in the seat, wrapping her arms around her knees to try and calm the shivering.

He nodded at a pair of lights disappearing into the night, far away over the water. “Their vehicles were modified. They flew.”

She sighed and it turned into another cough. “I lost the crow-cycle. I’m gonna riot.”

Smirking to himself, Batman tapped the batmobile’s comm. “Nightwing, I’m bringing Crow back to the cave.”

“Copy that, Batman. We’ve got things under control from here.”

When he looked up from the softly glowing screen, she was scowling at him and still shaking like a leaf. “Now I’m gonna riot harder.”

“Good, maybe it’ll warm you up.”

 

 

 

iv.

Alfred walked down the wide staircase into the batcave, frowning slightly when he saw Bruce still at the computer just as he was two hours ago when he last saw him.

Becca sat cross-legged on a box near the computer, dressed in pajamas, hair fluffed by the hot shower she took to thaw herself out from an accidental swim in the harbor.

Alfred set a mug of hot chocolate on the box beside her and she glanced up from the game on her phone to smile at him, which he returned.

Just as he was about to say something to Bruce about taking a rest and changing out of the batsuit, the rest of the kids began to arrive back in the cave.

The family arriving back in the cave was always somewhat of a whirlwind of checking for injuries, listening to everyone’s comments on how the night had gone, and making sure everyone got settled down and taken care of however they needed.

Thankfully that night had been fairly calm, and no one had any injuries beyond a few cuts and bruises. The cave was calm, even while they all chatted back and forth.

On some nights Alfred was irritated by the way the kids always seemed to toss their clothes or other random items onto the floor like a group of barbarians, but on nights like this one he was just glad to have them all getting along, and all uninjured. He hummed to himself while he grabbed boots, gloves, masks, and a couple of shirts off the batcave floor, bringing them over to the small laundry area he kept in the cave for washing the suits. Once the clothes were in the wash, he turned and took a quick stock of the cave.

Bruce was still working at the computer, seemingly unmoved by the commotion except for his occasional responses to Damian, who was leaning against the console while munching on an energy bar.

Becca was still on the box she’d been sitting on earlier, although now Jenelle and Tim were perched on either side of her, offering occasional comments on the game as she played. Jason sat on the floor in front of the three of them, head resting back on the box, Becca’s feet resting on his shoulders while he dozed.

Dick, already showered and changed, approached the batcomputer and ruffled Damian’s hair before discussing a recent case with Bruce.

Gabrielle, he knew, was currently in the shower, but he didn’t see Elaina anywhere.

Before he had a chance to be confused or alarmed, he heard someone approaching to his right.

He turned, and there stood Elaina, almost completely changed out of her Lone Wolf costume. It was an odd sight, her wearing an oversized sweatshirt, shorts, her mask, and one knee-high boot. Wearing only one shoe meant her approach was lopsided and awkward, and Alfred had to put effort into not smiling, since he guessed from the way what he could see of her face was scrunched that she was not in a pleasant mood.

“I’m gonna riot.” She announced, the statement many-voiced and ominous through her mask.

“Is something the matter?”

She gestured to her laced-up boot, tugged at the strong knot at the top of the laces, then pulled off her mask. “I’m trapped. The laces got wet and, like, sealed or something. I can’t untie them.”

“I see.” He glanced up. “Master Timothy, you wouldn’t happen to have a batarang on hand that I could borrow, would you?”

Tim looked up from the game pad with a slight frown, like he thought he hadn’t heard correctly. “A batarang?”

“If you please.”

“Uh, sure Al.” He exchanged puzzled glances with Becca and Jenelle, then slid off the box, pulled a batarang from his belt, and brought it over to Alfred.

He could feel several sets of curious eyes following him while he adjusted his grip on the batarang to avoid the sharpened edges, then leaned forward and sliced cleanly through the laces on Elaina’s boot.

She stared at him in surprise while he handed the batarang back to Tim.

“Spare shoelaces are in the cabinet beside the display cases, third drawer from the bottom.”

 

 

v.

Gabrielle’s alarm went off at three in the morning, a cheerful chiptune melody chiming into the warm darkness of her bedroom.

With a groan, she reached one arm out of the warm cocoon of blankets and shut it off. Her new plan of exercising in the early morning had been going well for her, but it was still a trial to leave her bed so early.

And not just because it was so warm and cozy.

“Dick.”

There was a low, extended growl in response. Dick had cuddled up against her and tucked his head up against the back of her head, so when he growled it vibrated against her skin and gave her goosebumps.

“I need to get up.”

Another growl and he tightened his grip around her stomach, pressing her even closer to his body. She twisted in his grip so she was almost laying on her back and could see his face.

He’d been at work at GCPD the night before up until just past midnight, and had only finally fallen asleep a couple of hours ago. His hair was ruffled and messy from the pillows, his dark eyelashes fluttering slightly when she moved in his arms, and his cheeks slightly flushed from sleep like a little kid’s.

“Puppy.”

He nuzzled against the side of her neck and moved his mouth a little like he meant to leave a kiss there but wasn’t quite awake enough to manage it.

“Baby I need to get out of bed. You have to let go of me.” She pried at his arms to help him get the hint in his current state.

He let her move his arms but let out a loud groan when she rolled out of his embrace. Without her he rolled onto his stomach with his face in the pillow and groaned again.

She climbed out of the bed, shivering in the comparatively cool air, and turned to tuck the fluffy comforter around her husband. “Go back to sleep, puppy.”

He turned his head a little, so his mouth wasn’t covered by the pillow. “Where you goin’?” He mumbled, voice crackly and heavy from sleep.

“Just going to do some exercising.” She yawned, turning on the bedside lamp so she could see to grab some workout clothes from the dresser.

He flinched and turned his head to the other side to escape the light. “‘M gonna riot…” He sighed.

Before she could stop herself she laughed out loud in the otherwise silent room. “Grayson! It’s bad enough Becca, Tim and Jenelle say that all the time!”

Dick grunted and curled up in a ball under the blankets, tucking his head in until it was almost under the comforter.

Once she was changed, Gabrielle walked over and leaned across the bed to leave a kiss on his head among his messy dark curls.

Snoring gently, Dick barely responded.

“Sleep well, Dick.” She whispered.

 

 

vi.

Jason was no stranger to questioning his own sanity. He’d done it often, typically when Batman or his assorted friends were involved. Tonight, he’d done it no short of eight separate times, but this time he had no one but himself to blame.

Bruce had offered to get him some warmer patrol clothes. He would have just given them to him. And he’d said no, in favor of simple layering and keeping in motion. It had seemed so reasonable at the time, but now he was fairly certain it had been some form of misguided pride speaking for him. Again.

Becca had rolled her eyes when he’d insisted on going out tonight, one of the coldest nights of the year. But the weather hadn’t seemed so bad at first.

The problem with cold, really powerful cold, multiple-degrees-below-zero cold, was that it was sneaky. Sure it would hit you at first, but then you’d pull yourself together and tell yourself it wasn’t that bad. But then it would seep in, through your breathing if there wasn’t any exposed skin, and once it got inside it set up shop.

Jason opted for the flatter areas of roofing since he was shivering all over. His apartment building was in sight, which meant heat, coffee, and a warm bed.

Becca had been sidelined already by Bruce, and for once the old man had made a decision Jason couldn’t bring himself to argue with. She had asthma, and the harsh cold would exacerbate it immediately. No need to tempt fate by running around in it.

Of course that meant she would probably be in bed by now, warm and cuddled in blankets and just waiting for him to join her.

After his customary checks to be sure he wasn’t followed, Jason slid open one of the apartment windows and fumbled inside, clumsy from the cold.

The apartment was dark, but it was warm and smelled like hot chocolate and home.

Relieved by the familiar and warm surroundings, he felt exhaustion hit him all at once. The hot coffee could wait until tomorrow. He tossed his gloves on the kitchen table and headed for the bedroom, removing his helmet as he went.

Sure enough, Becca was already in bed when he got in. Snuggled in a ball with several blankets piled on top. Nice and warm.

He smiled and set his helmet on the dresser before quickly tossing aside his chilled clothes and changing into some pajamas. Careful not to wake her, he slipped under the covers beside her.

She shifted a little when the bed moved under his weight, turning just a bit like she was looking over her shoulder, though her eyes stayed closed.

“Just me, babe,” He murmured so softly it barely made a sound, shifting closer, “move over, I’m cold.”

She made a soft sound of half-aware acknowledgement, and shifted forward a little in the bed so he had more space. Once he settled, she pushed back into him so her body was nestled perfectly against him.

Jason rested his arms over her, holding her close while her warmth began to ease the tension in his chilled muscles.

She had just fallen back to sleep when an evil thought occurred to him. A thought he just couldn’t dismiss.

After listening to her breathing to check that she was sleeping, he set his left hand, the hand not pinned under her, on her hip.

No reaction.

Moving painfully slowly, he slid his hand down just a bit, then back up, slipping his fingertips just under the hem of her shirt to rest on the waistband of her pajama pants. When that failed to gain a reaction, he nuzzled against the top of her head, planting a little kiss in her hair.

She stirred, nuzzling the pillow and pushing back against him sleepily. “Hm?”

“It’s cold out there.” He breathed against her hair.

“Mm.”

He couldn’t hold back a smirk, and was glad she couldn’t see his face. “I could use a little warmth right about now.”

“Jay-”

Before she could fully respond, he quickly slipped his hand up her shirt to rest his half-frozen palm against her warm, bare stomach.

She let out a shriek, and in the same moment swung her left arm and drove her elbow right into his face.

Startled he rolled backwards, directly off of the bed, hitting his head on the edge of the nightstand on the way down.

It all happened so quickly, the both of them laid in silence for several seconds before either could process a response.

Becca rolled over, hopped off the bed and knelt beside him on the floor.

“Oh my gosh, Jason, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you! What did you do that for? Oh my gosh. Let me see…”

Jason laid on the floor, mildly stunned, blinking away reflex tears while his cheek and the back of his head throbbed in concert.

It had been a dumb move. A really dumb move. Becca was as highly trained as he was. Had she been more alert that blow would have easily broken his nose.

“Jason?”

He looked up at her, hair wild from sleep, eyes wide with panic.

“Are you okay? Baby, talk to me.”

He started laughing.

After a few moments her panicked expression faded, and she started laughing too. Once she regained herself, she stood and nudged his side with her foot. “Get up, you dork. I’ll get you some ice for your cheek, it’s already swelling.”

Jason turned onto his side and grabbed her ankle, the cold in his lungs turning the laugh into a cough. “Oh my god, babe...I’m...I’m gonna riot…”

She leaned back against the wall, the giggles growing back into helpless laughter.

 

 

 

vii.

It seemed that no matter how early everyone began getting ready for an event, they all always ended up rushing around by the time it was nearly time to leave.

Bruce was herding Damian into the bathroom to work on his hair, which the hellishly stubborn thirteen-year-old insisted was ‘just fine, Father’. While in the same bathroom Stephanie was working on Cass’ makeup, because apparently the lighting in there was better than all of the other bathrooms in the manor.

Becca and Elaina, each wearing a dress so fluffed with tulle and sequins they must have weighed as much as the girls themselves did, kept swooping in and out of each other’s bedrooms, discussing different lipstick and eyeshadow colors and trading earrings like pokemon cards.

Jenelle hopped down on the hall on one foot, shouting to Damian for moving her shoes, which she’d apparently left in the hall earlier that day so she wouldn’t lose them, although currently she was missing the right.

Alfred dodged the maelstrom in the hall to disappear into Jason’s room, since apparently the suit jacket he’d worn just a few weeks ago wouldn’t button and clearly it was the jacket’s fault.

Tim leaned back against the wall just inside his bedroom, watching the commotion with wide eyes. He really just wanted to get to the living room so he could grab his phone from where he’d plugged it in earlier that afternoon. He hadn’t expected that he’d have to cross raging rapids to get there.

All at once he was nearly pushed off his feet by something shoving him backwards into the room. When he had a moment to collect himself, and regain his balance, he realized the ‘something’ was in fact a someone, and that someone was Gabrielle.

She was in a beautiful light blue gown, her hair artfully done, makeup flawless. She looked...furious.

“So…” She began with a huff, an introduction that usually meant Tim was going to be forced to take sides in some complaint about Dick or Jason. Since he was talking to Gabrielle, he assumed it would be Dick.

“Don’t get me involved.” He said immediately, holding up both hands to stop her. “Whatever it is, I am a completely neutral party and I’m sure I don’t know anything about it.”

Gabrielle paused, blinked, and let out a sigh that seemed to deflate her completely. “No, Tim, this isn’t that kind of rant.”

“Oh.” He dropped his arms to his sides. “Then go ahead.”

She took a deep breath again. “So. I promised Dick I’d wear this dress today, because it’s one of his favorites and I haven’t worn it yet.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Okay…”

“Problem is…” She turned around, gesturing to her back. The dress was backless across her shoulders all the way down to just below her shoulder blades, which explained why it was one of Dick’s favorites. But, in several places across her shoulders, dark bruises stood out against her skin in shades of dark purple and blue.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. I have five minutes to get these covered before we leave, and I can’t reach. Do you mind…” She held up a foundation palette, and peeked over her shoulder sheepishly. “I’d ask Dick but he’s helping Bruce with Damian.”

Tim smiled and stepped forward, taking the palette from her hand. “No problem. I’m your dude.”

A few short moments later, Gabrielle sat awkwardly on the corner of Tim’s bed while he stood behind her, trying to apply the makeup without putting too much pressure on the fresh bruises.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.” He apologized for about the eightieth time in thirty seconds.

“Tim, let’s just say you’re sorry about all of it, and not worry about each individual time.”

“Sounds good.”

Bruce marched down the hall, which had calmed significantly in the past few minutes. “Anyone who is not in the limo in the next three minutes is walking to the benefit!” His voice boomed.

“We’re coming!” Gabrielle shouted back, voice tense.

Tim, biting his lip in concentration, dabbed more concealer as quickly as he could over the last bits of visible bruising. Unfortunately, going fast meant sacrificing some gentleness.

Gabrielle grunted slightly.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

“I’m gonna riot.” She whispered back.

He nearly dropped the palette, but managed to toss it on the bed instead. “Did you just-”

“Yep.” She hopped up, grabbing her purse from the ground and hurrying to his mirror to check her hair. “Now come on, Timmers, we don’t have time to worry about my appropriate meme usage.”

“But…” He got off the bed and ran a hand through his hair, hurrying to follow her out the door.

“No time, Tim!” She swooped down the hall.

“...it’s not a meme.” He sighed, closing his bedroom door behind him.

 

 

 

viii.

All Dick could think about was how long it had been since Damian had last had a nightmare.

Or, at least, a nightmare he’d been there to deal with.

He sat on his youngest brother’s bed, leaning back on the headboard, staring into the darkness of the room while the boy leaned into him, his arms around Dick, head buried against the side of his neck.

Dick kept his arm around Damian, gently rubbing his back, humming a tuneless melody in an attempt to soothe him. It was something he would do with a baby, and Damian wasn’t a baby, but he also wasn’t complaining.

He’d refused to talk about the nightmare itself, and Dick hadn’t pressed.

Dick hadn’t tried, but he also knew the boy would refuse to admit he was crying.

Damian’s breathing was slowly returning to normal, until he finally managed a deep breath almost like a sigh, blowing against Dick’s neck.

“You okay, kiddo?” He asked softly, reaching over with his opposite hand to ruffle the boy’s hair. It was getting too long again. Hadn’t he just had a haircut?

Damian mumbled something against his shoulder that was muffled by his sweater.

“What was that?”

His brother lifted his head a bit, and sighed again like speaking was a phenomenal effort.

“I said, I’m gonna riot.”

Dick really did try not to laugh, but in trying to suppress his laughter he only managed to let out a snort that was incredibly loud in the silence of Damian’s bedroom at midnight. He covered his mouth with one hand and tried to muffle his laughter, feeling like the worst big brother ever.

Damian rested his head back down on Dick’s shoulder, and to his surprise he could feel a smile on his brother’s face.

After a moment or two he regained himself enough to sigh and resettle himself against the headboard, draping his arm back around the younger boy and shaking his head.

“Jenelle’s rubbing off on you, Dames. Should I be worried?”

“Of course not.”

Dick smiled, glancing down at his brother. “Hm. We’ll see.”

The boy let out a soft tt. “Whatever you say, Grayson.”

 

 

 

ix.

It was astounding, Alfred thought, how Bruce Wayne could be so outstandingly competent and skilled at so many things in life, things that no human would ever even consider studying, and yet be so hopeless in the most simple areas.

“Alfred this is nonsense.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“It shouldn’t be so difficult to open a package of socks.”

The older man glanced up from the laundry he was folding to watch Bruce, a grown man who had saved the world more times than he could count, glare at a new package of sweatsocks. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, sir.”

A quickly-muffled snort from the couch alerted Bruce to the presence of his third son, who was kneeling on the cushions and leaning over the back, his phone raised. He was almost certainly adding a video of this ordeal to one of his social medias. Most likely ChapSnat or whatever it was called. The one with the unflattering filters.

“Tim, put that phone away or no dessert for two weeks.” Bruce grumbled without any actual fire beneath his words.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” He glanced up at the boy with an eyebrow raised challengingly. “Alfred made chocolate cake this afternoon. If you don’t get any, there’s more for me.”

Tim narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and there was a long moment where he and Bruce simply stared at one another before the boy slowly lowered his phone and sat back down on the couch.

“Thank you. Alfred, what am I doing wrong, here?”

Alfred took his time with one of Damian’s dress shirts, folding it neatly and then setting it on top of a pile of the youngest Wayne’s clothes, before looking up. “There’s a pair of scissors in the kitchen, in the drawer under the sink. You’ll find those helpful in snipping the two plastic tabs securing the socks together, Master Bruce.”

Bruce nodded and set off for the kitchen.

With him gone, Alfred could hear the soft sound of Tim replaying the video he’d managed to catch of Bruce and the socks.

In the kitchen a moment later, there was a noise that sounded very much like the sound of a pair of scissors slipping from someone’s hands and hitting the tile floor.

“Alfred,” Bruce called, “I’m going to riot.”

Tim made a choking sound from his spot on the couch.

Alfred sighed, setting down the pants he was folding. “Me first, sir.”

 

 

 

x.

Over the years, starting that fateful night when Martha and Thomas Wayne were killed and their traumatized, orphaned son came home alone, Alfred had built up a routine. Every night, before he could go to sleep, Alfred walked the manor.

It hadn’t started out with the manor, it had been only the walk between his bedroom and Bruce’s. But as more and more people were added to the family, and more of the empty bedrooms were filled by lonely kids who needed someone, the walk got longer.

Everyone was at home, for the first time in ages. Alfred’s walk was long. He didn’t mind.

He started by walking past Dick’s room, where the young man he’d watched grow up was curled up, arms around his wife. Both of them were asleep, fitting together perfectly. It was like a scene from a movie or a photograph, and it warmed his heart.

In the next room, Jason was stretched out on his back, with Becca laying on his stomach. He was asleep, and though Becca had her eyes closed Alfred could see she was still awake. A podcast played softly from her phone, a kind of white noise to help them both sleep. When Jason stirred in his sleep, she reached out to gently hold his hand.

Tim was sound asleep, curled up with his head on Elaina’s lap while she sat awake reading. She smiled at Alfred when he passed by, and he returned it. She knew about his walks, like most of the family, and she understood very well the need to be sure all of one's loved ones were safe and comfortable. For a few weeks after returning from her time as the Lone Wolf, she’d accompanied him on his nightly rounds.

For a moment he didn’t see Jenelle, buried as she was under a mound of blankets. She was well settled into her room in the manor by now, having already begun to put up posters and photos on the walls. Her tablet was on the bed, playing an anime, and he stepped quietly into the room to stop the show. While doing so, he noticed that one of the blankets she’d wrapped herself in was very definitely stolen from Damian’s room.

Damian, when he was asleep, looked totally different. He looked like an actual thirteen-year-old child, nestled into his pillows, his dog and cat curled on the bed beside him. A mug of tea sat, definitely cold by now, on his nightstand, and his desk light was still on. Alfred went inside to shut off the light, but decided to leave the tea for tomorrow morning. It wasn’t worth the risk of disturbing the boy.

Last was Bruce. To Alfred’s surprise, he was actually in bed. Not asleep, but in bed. He set his tablet down slightly when he spotted the older man in the hall.

“Everyone settled in, Alfred?”

“Tucked in and sleeping, sir. Any thought of following suit?”

“In a minute,” he yawned, picking up his tablet again, “I have a few reports from the office to review before a meeting tomorrow, and a couple of emails to write, and some other things to look over.”

“Sir…”

Bruce smiled, but Alfred wasn’t reassured in the slightest. “I’ll go to sleep, I promise.”

Alfred sighed. “Of course, sir.”

“Good night, Alfred.”

“Good night, Bruce.”

After taking a few steps away from the bedroom of the oldest child in the house, Alfred paused and looked back at the door, sighed, and shook his head.

“I’m going to riot.”

And he set off for his own bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> How many of you figured out Tim was playing Breath of the Wild in his scene?


End file.
